the relationship chronicles
Part One
The Relationship Chronicles.
Kim Park
The instant you meet.
How do I express to someone how much life can change in an instant. You blink an eye. It becomes one life altering moment of insignificance. One minute you are in one realm and the next someone walks in and life is different. Your routine is changed. You begin to journey into the unknown, throwing caution to the wind. You wake up in a different bed. His bed. His smell. Your smells mix with his. Legs tangle in awkward newness. And like a pioneer, you begin the exploration of someone entirely foreign.
Where did he come from? How was it that one week ago I was in a different life. One minute ago I was strolling through my life and now I am racing. I wake with him by my side.
Hes New.
I watch us interact. Lovers who will become friends. Perhaps not. Lovers who may become partners. Lovers who may become enemies. Or maybe become nothing at all.
In this brief moment of newness, it cements the time when it is only each other. Plans are unmade. Promises are broken. Nothing exists in life except you, him, and the space you both occupy. Routine becomes nonexistent. All moments become hurried seconds that could end at any time. There is no future. It is all in a present moment when you want no one else. The private inklings that begin to weave the future. T create the structure for what may be a pivotal relationship. Or one that may crumble in one earth shattering disappointment.
The Moment.
How can I go about my life when I am in the throes of passion? How can I eat a bagel with ordinary cream cheese when all I want to do is savagely be fed grapes? Who is this man sitting in sweats me that hours ago existed in some erotic fantasy?
How does one maintain that momentum while remaining grounded in everyday life. Does one stop spinning or is it constant circles. Feeling wonderful but going nowhere. Going somewhere. But where? And who cares where when the journey is so exotic. Adventurous. Confusing.
Another Him.
And in that brief moment, the one that is now, the past seems to go in and out of the shadows. I sit and think about that time in small spurts. It seems so long ago. I see Another him. The one I called to for so many nights. He, who stopped answering the pleas for forgiveness. Vanished from existence into his own world of self absorption.
The Other him no longer haunts my thoughts with desperate severity. He just sits there. He waits to be called upon in a moment of weakness. Dissention is everywhere and it is seeping through the walls. He is standing in the doorway. He hovers over the threshold of a new life. Will he let me pass? Will I let myself past?
The Ex Factors.
Faces peer from behind the shadows. Past memories and experiences that shape the road you are traveling. The past that we have let go inevitably rears its head in one shape or form. I see the Other. His Other. My Other. We always have one or maybe many. The Other we spent our lives with prior. The one who broke our heart. The one who we walked away from. We are traveling hand in hand down a new road, yet I am forced to stop and heed penance to the past. I look in through the thick grass of memories and see what has become rooted in the soil. Or if the past has withered and died.
I suddenly question the new because the old didnt work. Viewing the future with the skepticism of a sage yet feeling the present in all its impish glory. And I have settled into a new routine. Reality has become apparent. And the past resurfaces. What shape will it take in this relationship? Will it hinder or enrich? I think of the past. The relationships. The marriages. His. Mine.
The marriage sham.
And in this reflection on my past, the bitterness stripped, I see my former marriage. The sham. Is that what it was? I look at him with an intense curiousness. Was his marriage real? Mine? What was my marriage?
I think. I ponder. I cry. I sit and realize what the marriage sham is. My own epiphany.
It was strictly the love. Love sometimes creates a blindness. Passion breaks rules. But what happens when love is the only element that exists? And then one haphazardly decides to take that love and marry? Trying to combine reality with fantasy. Trying to combine two separate lives with one single tie. The tie that is based on erratic emotion. Nothing else. And then that one single emotion falls into the background and nothing comes forward.
Pure love cannot exist without extraneous variables. Mine was proof of that. The marriage sham was evidence that love that could not survive in its solidarity. Love was unable to be the foundation for a marriage. My marriage. Our love was too fragile. So shaky at times, that standing alone could collapse our union.
The marriage sham happened between a insecure man and a young girl. Marriage that knew nothing of stability. Nothing of conventional wisdom. Only the blind rush that passion brings. He loved me. I loved him. I didnt know him. Or me. The definition of marriage in the true sense of the word eluded me. How could I know what it was? I was too enrapt in romance. Too involved in my emotion for him. The gratification was instant. He needed me and I needed love. I did not know the truth. I refused to see beyond the realm I created. How did it end? How did it begin?.
The marriage became an extension of love. The notion of being in love. What was being in love? What was being married? I had no answer. I was a child. We were blinded by love. And one day love could no longer stand alone in the playpen. Two souls tortured by insecurity. Torturing each other. Riddled with fear that this may not be real. And fear turned to apathy. And love left. And in its place stood an empty void. A hole that indifference dug deeply. He dove. I fell through. Thrown from my feet and thrust into an emptiness I had never experienced. I kicked and screamed. He fled. And we could not dig each other out. Trapped in the marriage grave. Love gone to hell. Love was dead for him and I. Thus, the marriage was buried.
HIS past, my naivety.
And in innocence, one forgets that there are other marriages.
I have no concept of the years he spent with her. I have been too fooled by my sham to know the definition of marriage by any other standard. So, I sit. I listen. I hear her name come through conversations with frequent disdain. With fondness. With historical conviction.
And I realize in a calm breath that I cannot force his past to remain silent. It exists. Mine exists.
Yet, we have come to this place. Weve met and begun our own exploration. Seeing what works. What does not. Its an evolution that I begin to embrace rather than resist. And I see that the past is an integral part.
Pain Becomes Memories.
It started out as pain. Past relationships gone sour or just gone. The end is always so final. The dates become milestones of survival. One month ago I lost him. One year ago we divorced. All thought of with pining emotion. One avoids places where you frequented as a couple. One smells the air the night you first walked hand in hand. The night that love blossomed. How quickly the bud grew into a flower. And the flower expired. Perished from the frigid air. One hears a song and burst into uncontrollable sobs at the sentiment.
The pain manifests itself into forms of remembrance. I remember when I saw him standing with that quirky smile. I remember when I looked at him for the last time with contempt seeping from the tears. I remember pulling out of the driveway for the last time his wife. And the pain continued for so long. Numbing any thought of times that were good.
Over time it changed. The pain subsided. The reality of the past came sweeping in like spring air. And I remembered him. I remembered us. As a memory. A memory that shaped my life. The time we spent together in our lives. The joys. The sorrows. It reminds me of the overwhelming capacity I have for love.
I suddenly realize he is who he is. And he does not fit into my happiness. But the memories do. I have the energy to expend of those thoughts. I laugh when I remember instead of cry. I appreciate the years weve spent. A small part of my large life. And the pain is gone. The memories are stored into lifes card catalog with touching fondness. And the next chapter of life begins.
When all the wrongs turn right.
And in the beginning of the next chapter, one looks vehemently for things to go wrong. How could it feel so good? So normal when the last years of life had been so painful? Days walking about aimlessly, wondering what will go wrong. How could it not go wrong? And you are trying ignite this new fire while extinguishing the old flame.
I looked at him the other day. It was nothing significant.. He just touched my hand. And it struck me with my own monumental revelation. I needed to stop looking for things to go wrong. I needed to feel him touching my hand and know that this was what I deserved. I had paid my dues with my past. My pain. It was my sudden desire to look for everything right. Look for all the good in one person without looking to the past to cloud my view. Without looking into the future.
And he left for the weekend. And I kept this thought with me. Instead of self torture that woman are distinctly capable, I simply looked forward to the next time we would be together. If it was to happen, it would. And it did. And his hand was touching mine. And I saw sincerity in his eyes.
The Moment Reality Bites Back.
Reality settles back in one large swoop. No longer can one pretend that the world has stopped. The whole tryst almost becomes anti-climatic. You wake up one morning, and your normal routine appears at your bedside in place of the Cupid. One suddenly realizes that the newspaper still comes though you have not checked, bills are slowly stacking on the table among the half filled glasses, and the clothes piled up in passion desperately need to be laundered.
And here you are in your skimpy underwear continuing to blow off routine. You stop and become confused. How does one continue the momentum without losing the space of ordinary life? Does one stop the paper from coming? You begin to question life as you knew it. Life as you know it. Life as you think you know it. And it all seems so miserably out of place. Where I had felt wonderfully dazed and confused, I now feel confusion. Elation followed by resentment towards normalcy. Towards the world. Towards the mailman.
In this shuffle, the past continues to try and pursue your present. Its running in the race. It knows that newness is about to turn into reality. And the gun is sounded. The gates are open.
And then.
And then. Then there is the talk. The talk about what it is and what it is not. Boundaries are set against something that seemed so fluid. Definitions have been created. And doubt begins to flood in. Am I compromising my life? Do I want to be with this person all the time? Does it work?
And somewhere in this talk, you look at the person sitting across from you and realize how difficult it is. How timing becomes eminent. Spring has begun and there is much more to do than laze in bed coveting each other. The warm weather renews your sense of independence. Generates the past that you actually want to remember, relive. And that past never included the present. How do you make both of them work?
And you look at the person and realize that you could go on without him. You would. But you would rather find out if it could work instead of not. You remember that regrets only become added on to the lists of maybes or could haves. And that life is not made of regrets, its made of evolutions.
The kiss.
And I kissed him goodbye. I cried. I drove and cried. I cried for him. I cried for me. Tears of such raw passion that I never knew they existed for someone else. I pulled out of the driveway with no plan. No direction except my own.
And I cried so hard, I felt alive. Capable of feeling something.
And my strength comes back from the dormant winter. Like the Spring air through my window. My mind takes over for my heart. It rationalizes. It steps in and begins to process. Maybe we will. Maybe we wont. What will be will be.
Part Two
Part Three
My heart.
I am deep into my own heart. I love. I live. My emotions carry such conviction these days. I enjoy the solidity with which I pursue happiness. And my heart has become the single tool that I polish each day. The tool that allows me to release my past and find my future. And my life has been repaired.
And with my heart, I am following the core of my existence. I trust myself. I trust the instincts that I believed to be non-existent. And my instincts tell me that this moment, this crossing of paths is sincere. True to form. And true to my heart.
A Man From My Past.
He was a friend, an acquaintance really. Mutual admiration had run rampant for some years. We belonged to similar social circles. He came to my wedding. I grieved for him when his fiance left. We each had our respective partners in life. And then the partners were gone. And I saw him again.
Here we were in a different place in our lives. A different set of circumstances. I saw him out of the shadow of my former love. My former life. And he was a light.
Colliding.
We forgive the past. We move on. Life slowly creeps back into the present and we become aware that we are living once again. We heal. Pain dissipates into faded memory.
And one day, the past steps into the present. I see him standing there. The friend. The acquaintance. The man who saw my open wounds from afar.
I have changed. My past is gone. My present no longer includes the thoughts that made me so scared of the future. My views on life have altered.
I have prospered in my time away from the past.
And here I am standing in front of him. Scared of the secrets he knows. Scared that the young girl I was may return.
The Meeting.
So, we plan. Dinner. Catch up. Two friends that have crossed similar paths once again meet. He sits. His knees immediately lock with mine. Have we ever sat so close? Have I ever noticed the detail of his face? So chiseled, yet so soft. I put a hand to his knee. A touch. The passing of human electricity from one hand to the next. The energy conducts from him to me. Me to him. It is like a volt through me. A light-bulb moment that thinks, Is this the way he feels?And we talk. We remember the same memories. We visit the past together. And we speak of our lives, now. It all becomes slightly surreal. Weaving in and out. The past. The present. The bad. The good. All encompassed in one meal.
The Parking Lot.
In the car. Here we are, in a parking lot. One of many we sit in as if we were children. Teenagers steaming up the windows. We find ourselves sitting inches from each other. And we come closer. Talking. Tasting. Exploring the place where words flow. It becomes so sensual, my heart races.
Our words, our thoughts are steering us. And the direction is unknown. The road is ahead and undiscovered. We may never leave the lot, bumpy and littered with holes from others. Or we may. We may travel together at the speed of light. We may stop in the midst of our journey.
I stand in awe. I am amazed that my heart has opened to my past. And that my heart feels for the present.
Part Four
7/8/2003
The Flame.
The torches were lit around us. The flame soft, yet strongly burning. Such was the way my heart felt. A dull ache. A tugging that illuminated my core. I watched as the light danced to the sounds of our voices. Melodious. Sporadic flickers of passion. Bits of sadness. The glow revealing this man before me.
He sat in front of me, as I waited with bated breath to touch his face. I looked at him, and saw in the pools of light, a dance floor.
My Dance.
I am on the floor. Tiled with my past. Tiled with my future. My feet grounded within my own life. I am partnered with myself at this moment in time. Learning the steps. Trying so desperately to listen to the melody and learn how to dance. My mind hears, but my heart stumbles. It skips. It's missing the beat of another singing heart. But, I learn.
And my passion leads me. I waltz around the room. Gracefully I step to my own song. To the sounds of my own heart. And I listen. I am starting to hear. It flows from one love to the next. They are all love songs. My love is deep.
The Dance Partner.
In the pools of light, I see him again. He is sitting on the side. Shadows of many men are behind him. The spotlight shines on me. I am the dancer. He is watching me dance. Watching me move with lithe arms and the poignancy of the woman I am becoming.
And he sits among the shadows of others, letting me dance alone. I am basking in the light of my heart. He simply watches in pleasure. In pure admiration of the steps I am learning. He sees that he must sit this song out. He glances down at his hands.
The Dance Card.
He looks at the frayed dance card. Each name scribbled in the lines. Each name different. Some no longer dancing. Some waiting for their own song. The edges torn from his nervous palms turning the card over and over in his mind. Who is the one I will dance with next, he thinks.
But he watches her. This woman. The one who chooses to dance alone. Her name is not on his card. Nowhere does she fall in the lines. She has no place on the list. Yet, here she is dancing in front of him. Waiting for the song to begin. And he sits and stares at her body trailing in the light. His hearts begins the song.
The Song.
And in my own light, I am writing the words with my heart. My song. His song. When will the music begin. When will it end. The same questions I ask myself with every partner. Can I dance with him to the music in my heart? Is this the song of solidarity? I know not, the words are being written as I dance. Words that ring bittersweet. Tender only to him and I. We are the only ones who know how the song is written. We are the only ones who can hear the music in which I write.
The Flame.
And I look at him. I return from my dance and am once again embraced in the light around us. The flames remind me of that fleeting moment in my heart. And I feel happiness and sadness at the same time. Like the flickering torches, my emotions bounce.
I am afraid the light will extinguish. That he will blow it out. That the wind will cease its existence in one moment of passion. One moment of regret.
Yet, the light is beginning to burn in my heart. It exists where darkness once was. The light that is so my own. The flame that burns brightly within my soul.
My Show.
And I begin. I will dance in life at this moment. And he will watch. His eyes follow mine. He sees me. And I him.
He will ask me to dance. And I will be in his arms. Or I will continue to stroll on my tiled floor without him. With another partner.
I am the dancer. My show. My love. My dance card. My heart will write the song.
With all my strength and fragility, I let him watch me. Let him ponder over his own card. His own dance. I see him in the corner of my eye and I continue to dance for him. For me. In my own light..
But, with his eyes burning the song in my heart, I continue the dance.
Part Five
Moments of Indecision
A fleeting moment when passion dominates intellect. The moment takes over and caution is again thrown to the wind. Were no lessons learned from the previous lovers? Or the lovers who were left when the voice of reason took over?
Is there a time where my heart has sustained enough? Where I am able to simply let myself go and love with reckless abandon? How does one be reckless when indecision binds me to my intellectual boundaries?
I think. Intellect. Passion. Too much overlapping within false arenas. Too much energy has been expended on futile loves.
And now the indecision has crept into my heart. I cannot speak. I cannot write. I only feel. I only know what exists in my emotion. And I do not even have energy to guess what the other feels.
And do I want? Do I feel? Do I desire? Do I dream of this one person by my side?
And he sits near. I feel him. And he does not see me.
I struggle to make sense of the situation. How do I pretend or propose that my heart is in this place? And how is it that my heart is at the point of any decision? It knows nothing.
It becomes my moment of indecision.
I leave him. I go to my own sanctuary of emotion. Where I am safe and secure in my own self love. Yet, when I go, my heart tugs. I feel as if I am leaving behind a deciding moment. It seems to be constant curiousness.
Something in this man makes my heart ache as a clock ticks. Steady with considerable deliberation. Calculated, yet pulsating.
But, it is not sorrow or void. It is a peace. Calm that used to be my adversary.
And now, I am able to leave with my heart slightly dimmed in reservation.
I am not left filled to the capacity that I know exists. I am merely content with a knowledge that this man exists in my life in some capacity. And that leaves my raving heart momentarily satiated.
My hunger.
Part Six
The Conflict.
Intellect is defined as many things; knowledge, the capacity to understand, reason.
How does intellect differ from emotion? Do we think about feeling? Or do we simply think and feel as separate entities.
And in this, comes the conflict in my relationship.
Intellect Shadows Emotion.
In my intellect, I can rationalize so many elements and they all work. We fit. We are friends. Our goals are relatively simple within confounds of our connection. And I think about the relationship in logistics and they are all there.
In my emotion, I feel such power I run. I am unable to process emotion with my intellect. What that feeling encompasses is my conflict. I am able to think about the feeling, but I am unable to live within that emotion free of rationality.
And thus the complication.
I think with such intensity. Thoughts about life run rampant through an already overzealous brain. I ponder. I analyze. Intellect is ingrained into the core of my body. But what about the feelings? Where do they play into an overactive mind? Are emotions compromised because of the intensity with which I think?
Who wins within my heart, intellect or emotion. There is no compromise. No gray in a heart shaded in severity. Each battles and stands on firm ground with an army of reasons to win.
And each time I look at him, my emotions shudder. My intellect takes back stage for a brief moment. And my emotion shines in the light of my heart.
So quickly intellect bounces back and takes over. Timid, my emotions are once again pushed back into the corner. And doubt takes center stage.
To Find My Light.
I feel him. I feel for him. My heart says I have fallen in love. My emotions are such that I try so desperately to stay in that one moment. One moment where I breathe intellect out and inhale the purest feeling.
It fills my lungs. It burns through the stark contrast of my heart, and reveals the compromise of two opposing forces within me.
But, I am silent. Expressing the moment of feeling eludes me. I am only a student of this new philosophy I have just found. Silent when it comes to the very essence of my existence. The feelings that I keep so hidden for fear of letting them out. If I am to feel, I am risking hurt. If I am to feel, I must stop for a moment. Breathe in the feelings, and let go of the pain. Allowing the happiness I feel to open.
I found my light yet I am consumed with finding the source. I want so much to feel the light without the concern of knowing where it has come from.
And in that One Moment
I look. I see. I feel. I love. My thoughts are become more quiet with each breath. The feelings grow stronger. They are winning the ongoing war.
I see him. I love him. It is nothing more than that. My heart wins the long battle that I no longer try so hard to fight. I breathe. I breathe in the most amazing air. Filled with him. Filled with me. Filled with the pure essence of emotion.
This is the air that is encompassing my world of intelligence. The voids filled. My love begins to take its space.
My heart soars on its wind.